I lifted my hair off the back of my neck as the music ended and looked Jerome right in the eyes. We stood there for a long moment, gazing at each other. I leaned toward him under the babble of happy voices, the pound of the new record that was playing. “I’d like to go have a drink somewhere when this is over,” I said. I didn’t feel awkward, I didn’t feel afraid, I only felt like I finally knew what I wanted.

“I’d like that very much,” he said. We slid apart.

The dance went on for another hour. I got a lot of laughing compliments from students—“All right, Ms. H!” “Way to go, Ms. H!” Jerome did not talk to me again, although we kept catching each other’s eyes. The last song had finally been played and I was making my way toward the door when Jerome caught my elbow. “Jana?”

“Yes?”

“Where should I meet you?”

“How about Brandywine’s in fifteen, twenty minutes.”

“That’s just off Main?”

“Yeah.” I shoved my hands under my loosened hair again, behind my neck. I was acting like a teenager, trying to get him worked up. “I’ll see you there in a bit, then.”

In the parking lot, I put on a little more lipstick. Same old color. I pulled down my dress and brushed at it quickly. I pushed an image of Cal the day he left out of my mind. I was ready. Jerome was already sitting at a small table, a glass of red wine in front of him. “Hi.”

“Hello.” So formal, even in this situation. “I took the liberty of ordering.” He smiled, a little sheepishly. “I felt rather in need of a drink.”

I sat down, ordered. He played with a packet of sugar, his hands turning it over so quickly that it was almost a blur. The confidence I felt in the gym vanished like so much smoke. Now that we were sitting across from one another, there seemed to be no way to talk. I wasn’t even sure what I wanted to say. “Well,” I finally said, a little too loudly. “It’s been quite an evening.”

“Yes.”

“You’re a good dancer.” How stupid is that? I thought.

“Am I?” he said. “It’s been so long since I’ve done anything even moderately like that. I confess to being a bit stunned.” He paused, then looked at me directly. “You bring that out in me. Surprises. I’m not sure I like it.” The sugar packet whirled in his dark, smooth hands. Our wine sat before us, waiting.

“Yes. Well. It’s mutual.”

More silence. We both looked at the table. Blond wood intended to look expensive and tasteful, but probably from some monster midprice outlet like IKEA.